Damaged
by Kurohane Ookami
Summary: When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right? AU, All Human. Rated M for Language and Suggestive themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy Birthday, Kisa! This year I'm posting on your birthday. **

**Category: **Bleach

**Title: **Damaged

**Pairing: **Grimm/Shuhei

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Romance

**Rating: **M for theme, language, and mildly suggestive scenes.

**Universe: **Alternate/All Human

**Summary: **He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

**-;-**

He frowned, leaning forward to place his chin on his palm as dark grey eyes scanned over the letters scrawled across the paper laid neatly in front of him on the kitchen table. His dark hair was ruffled in that usual bed-head fashion that always seemed to accompany him, even though it had to be at least two in the afternoon.

Sighing, the male ran a slim fingered hand through his hair as a yawn wracked his lean frame, momentarily revealing pearl white teeth and a set of admirable canines before he refocused on the note that was spelling out yet another assignment he wasn't particularly interested in but needed in order to keep a steady income. Thankfully, it was one of his close friends who had sent him the notice, so he was more inclined to accept the proposition.

_Hey Shuhei, _

_Know you haven't had anything going on since Rangiku's got her new staff to keep her happy. There's a new author who lives in town; give me a call if you need any extra info. _

_Kira_

Short and simple. Just the way he liked it.

Leaning back with a thoughtful look on his features, the male glanced over at the clock on the stove. If he planned this out right, he could get dressed and stop by Kira's before going to the address that had been included with the note, along with the name of the guy; at least, he assumed it was a guy. Anyone who named their kid Grimmjow had to be either been on drugs or completely crazy. Then again, knowing the norm for that sort of thing, he probably shouldn't mention anything.

"Should probably get going if I want to catch this guy." He murmured to himself, standing, pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips. "No idea why Kira would point me in his direction though. I don't usually do articles like this."

In the end, he decided it didn't really matter, and with a huff, he stood and made his way back towards his bedroom.

**-;-**

The usual noise that greeted him when he arrived at Wabisuke Publishing was something that instantly soothed Shuhei as he walked through the doors and quickly navigated his way through the usual mess of papers, people and chaos. Several people paused to give him hasty smiles and nods before they were forced to move along, and he smiled faintly in return.

He had managed to scrounge up a semi-clean pair of loose jeans that hugged his hips nicely and a formfitting black t-shirt that he'd thrown his baggy grey sweater overtop. Along with that, he was wearing his thin framed reading glasses and his signature book bag, which most knew contained his laptop, notepad, and various pencils and pens.

No one ever questioned him being here anymore, especially not since he had worked part time a while back and actually gotten to know the people here, so they let him right on by to the office that had _Izuru Kira _engraved in the door.

Smirking, Shuhei knocked twice on the door with his knuckles before entering, already predicting what the quiet blond would be doing. He'd be sitting behind his desk, his routine coffee from the shop down the street placed on the left hand side, close enough that he could easily reach it but far enough away that it wouldn't instantly murder his computer if it spilled. Not only that, but he would be wearing that look of utter hopelessness that usually could be found at any time past two-thirty on his face as he read through the newest manuscript that he'd been sent, and would most likely send Shuhei an exasperated look when he noticed that it was him coming to visit.

Several seconds later, and he was proven right, although today Kira was also gnawing on his thumbnail; yet another habit that he tended to pick up on any time past three in the afternoon.

"Shuhei? What are you doing here?" the blond asked in quiet surprise, jerking back ever so slightly as said male seated himself across from his long-time friend. Shuhei shrugged lightly, knowing exactly how aloof he appeared to others when he performed the motion. He didn't particularly mind. It was just one of those habits that he'd picked up over the years that he never quite thought of any longer. If it was because of the events that had led up to this point or not, he couldn't be sure, but then again, he was one who tended to overthink these sorts of things.

"I thought I'd come by on my way to see this Grimmjow you've decided to direct me towards." The dark haired male raised a brow before leaning forward, linking his fingers together and resting his chin on them. "Given that these kinds of tips are in your playing field, I couldn't help but wonder if there was some other reason I should be aware of that you're pushing me towards him."

Kira barely batted an eye at the smooth tone Shuhei was using with him. It was usually something that he found that his other half of the coin tended to lean towards, and it usually always meant that he was going to be interrogated at one point or another.

"His work is very similar to yours, Shuhei. That is all." Kira sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I thought that it would be good for you to do an article on him for me. Rangiku's been on my back all week about how she needs something to go on the cover for May's issue. A novel like Grimmjow's would be perfect to feature, especially considering that the summer holidays are coming up."

"I see."

Really, it was better to let Kira off the hook for now. He was squirming enough as it was, and the blond did have a tendency to get overwhelmed at times if he was pressured enough. He did fine at work; even thrived on the pressure of it, but as soon as someone closer to him began putting pressure on him, he cracked. Shuhei couldn't blame Kira for it; it was a part of who he was.

"Well then, I'd best be going then. I'll see you later." He nodded, standing again.

"Before you leave, Gin wanted to know if you were going to send over a copy of the manuscript tonight." Kira offered quietly. "He's interested to see how it's coming along."

A rare smile graced Shuhei's features, and he shrugged loosely. "I suppose I could do something like that." He teased before waving and exiting the office. Again, he was smiled at and greeted, and again, he plastered on that faint smile of his, that smile that never seemed to reach the fathomless dark grey pools that studied the world around him critically.

After all, it was a part of him now. Something that he had picked up over the years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Back already with the second chapter? Maybe…**

**Summary: **He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach.

**-;-**

Cerulean eyes lazily glanced at the screen of the thin laptop, fingers idly tapping at the table next to the keys as he tried to think of that damn word that was just out of reach of thought at the moment. He fucking _hated_ it when he couldn't think of a word. It wasted the time that he could be using to finish the rough draft of his next novel.

A tan hand, calloused and scarred, reached up to ruffle his long and very similar cerulean hair, debating if it was annoying enough to pull back into a tail or just leave it be. It wasn't like he had anyplace to be today, anyway. Starrk wasn't expecting him back for another couple of days, and he was going to utilize his privacy to the best of his ability.

Tilting his head to one side, Grimmjow was sorely tempted to grab a cigarette, but squashed the urge brutally. Shinji would kill him if he came over and found the place reeking of smoke again. The blond had some serious issues, that was for sure.

Giving himself a momentary break, he glanced up at the small apartment that surrounded him. It wasn't the best of the best, but it was enough for him. It was a three room apartment; the main living space, which included the kitchen and living room, his bedroom, and the bathroom. Shelves lined the wall above his sinfully comfortable leather couch, each and every one filled with countless books that he had collected over the years.

Leaning back, the male mused on what word it was that he was looking for. It had to be something-

A tentative knock at his door immediately brought a scowl to the blunettes handsome features, and he shoved back from the table irritably. Just as he was about to remember what the word had been, too.

"What do ya want?" he growled as he opened the door to reveal a startlingly attractive male on his doorstep.

**-;-**

Shuhei nervously stared at the taller male framed in the doorway for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his hair was _blue_. And not just blue; sky blue, a startlingly natural looking color for him. The fact that he had a pair of just as striking eyes was basically just the cherry on top for what else greeted him. Not only was Grimmjow- he assumed this was Grimmjow- shirtless, but the tanned flesh exposed to the light was extremely toned, the hints of a tattoo peeking over one of his slender hips.

"Was there something ya wanted other than to gawk at me all fucking day?" the male continued, raising a brow in vague annoyed amusement. "Because to be totally honest, I'm not interested in buying anything."

Shuhei narrowed his eyes at this prick. Jesus; even he didn't get this bad when he was disturbed from writing. He quickly took in the relaxed stance, noting that even though he appeared at ease, there was nothing relaxed about him. He was all tense muscles and wary motion.

"Shuhei Hisagi. I'm a freelance writer. I've been tipped off about your new novel that was recently released, and I'm interested in writing an article about you."

"Not interested." Came the drawled reply as Shuhei found the door suddenly closed in his face.

"Have a nice day to you too, asshole." He growled, shooting a glance at the door of the apartment as he retreated, shifting his book bag on his shoulder.

**-;-**

"Yeah. Guy's a total prick." Shuhei muttered dryly over the phone as he checked the timer on the oven. "Ran, I don't even know why you'd want an article about him."

"_Shu, I don't give two flying fucks about how much of an ass he is; he's a new author to the industry, and I really fucking need someone to feature for May's issue or I'm shit out of luck with Toshiro." _

"As much as I'd love to help you out with that, I'm not interested in dealing with this dude. For Christ's sake, Ran, getting a tattoo is less painful than that thirty second encounter with him."

"_Was that a challenge, or should I just listen to the bullshit you're spouting at me?" _Rangiku retorted, her honey tone sharp. _"Shuhei, grow a fucking pair and stop whining. Some of us actually work for companies and risk losing our jobs if we don't make the boss happy."_

"He's _your_ fiancée. You deal with him."

"_That may be true, but we honest to fucking God need that article, Shu. Please." _

"Fine."

If it meant that he could stop having this foolish argument with the bossy woman, then he would take his chances.

"_You're fucking amazing, Shu." _

"You owe me." He replied before hanging up.

Rangiku Matsumoto. As much as she was a friend and confidant to him, the busty strawberry blond was as much a nuisance and a drunk. She never knew when to stop prodding him, never knew what a boundary was, and never, ever gave up on what she wanted. How Toshiro had managed to put up with her for this long without throttling her was something of a miracle to the dark haired male. If he were in Toshiro's shoes, Matsumoto, as she preferred to be called, would be long dead and buried somewhere. But that was just him. He knew how well the mismatched pair went together, as did pretty much every other person in their circle of friends. Even though she was tall, he was short, she was busty and bright and he was quiet and stoic, they somehow clicked together like pieces of a puzzle.

…And Shuhei was once again overthinking things.

"Damnit." He swore, leaping from the couch as he realized the timer had gone off sometime in the last five minutes and there was now the smell of a well done pizza floating over from the oven.

Hissing as he very nearly burned off the back of his hand, the male ignored the flash of pain in favor of ensuring that he wouldn't burn the entire house down. His injury could wait another several seconds.

Turning off the oven and situating the steaming mass of cheese and dough, Shuhei quickly and efficiently turned on the tap of the sink, placing his stinging hand under the frigid spray and gritting his teeth. It was never pleasant dealing with burns. They were such temperamental things; it was difficult to tell if the pain was actually gone or simply waiting to strike when he least expected it.

Luckily, he had an entire pizza to eat while he doused his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**My apologies for the short first couple of chapters, all. I'm going to do my best to make them longer starting now. **

**Summary: **He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach.

**-;-**

It happened again.

It didn't take a genius when it came to him waking up in an alley somewhere, hands gripping the two switchblades that he always found when he came to.

Shuhei said nothing as he realized there was another figure laying farther down the alley. He didn't need to check to make sure; the man was dead.

Slowly, he assessed his newest collection of bruises that he was sure to have somewhere on his form, wincing as he took note of a shallow gash on his ribcage. Other than the narrow slice, he appeared to be fine, which was a welcome relief. Usually, there were more injuries for him to play doctor with, more to cover up and pretend they had never happened.

Shuhei ignored the blood that stained the cement around him, choosing to stand instead and beginning to stumble towards the entrance of the alley. He knew this alley well. It had history; a long reign of terror and pain- a dark past. The dark male bit out a dark bark of laughter, humorless. There were so many things that were fucked up about this, but there wasn't anything that he could do about it. He was vulnerable now, open, his walls retracted for the moment as he tried to regain his mental balance.

As he tried to recollect what had happened this time.

**-;-**

"Fuck." Grimmjow muttered, narrowing his gaze at the email sitting innocently in his inbox. It was from his younger self-proclaimed 'sister', Neliel. She was sending her yearly 'check on Grimmjow' email, and already, he could tell that his day was going to be a bad one.

She'd read his novel, of course, and had written a several paragraph review on it for him, which wasn't actually all that bad, considering she was a critic. No, it was the fact that she was recommending a therapist that she thought he should meet with.

So _not_ happening. He did just fine on his own, thank you very much. Sure, there was the occasional slip in habit, but that was to be expected, considering what he'd been through.

And the worst part about the letters typed neatly across his screen was that he couldn't reply. He never did. He knew the busty green haired woman would be on the next flight to Japan, despite the fact that she lived on the other side of the world. Technically speaking, anyway.

Frowning, the blue haired male minimized the tab, instead choosing to go back to scrolling through his newest chapter, powered out in the early hours of the morning when his insomnia had kicked back into high gear with a vengeance. It was written with his usual blunt, powerful wording, in some spaces vicious and on the offensive, others simply remaining at gruff.

It was a good chapter, he had to admit. There was simply the usual distanced and wary author hovering in the background, a puppeteer in the grand scheme of things. It was what he strived for.

No one would ever realize how close to the truth that his puppets were. Because all of the dancing puppets were connected to the puppet master in some way, and it was from him that all of the truth flowed.

Without even thinking about it, his cerulean gaze flickered to the scars that littered his forearms. None of them had been self-inflicted, despite what people might think about him. It didn't bother him anymore. Not since he'd become the street predator under the leadership of the Primera all those years ago. The Sexta had become the predator then, the shivering and terrified hare that he had once been becoming the lynx, the panther, and he had brought back everything that he had been put through ten times more down on the man that he'd had the misfortune to call father.

There was only so far that you could push someone before they snapped.

"I'm thinking too hard again." Grimmjow murmured to himself, pulling out a cigarette and lighter, flicking the flame into being and lighting the temporary peace that it would bring him. Sending his glance skyward, he blew a steady stream of smoke into the empty air. Shinji could suck it up if he decided to drop by. Besides, it wasn't even his home; the guy was just insanely obsessive about everything being just the way he wanted it to be. Automatically, since he and Starrk were together, that included Grimmjow in the equation, though how was still a bit of a mystery. Sure, he and Starrk were practically brothers at this point, but the crazy boyfriend in the picture was something that had yet to sink in fully.

"Goddamn." He snarled, putting out the cigarette on the worn table and standing. He was doing too much thinking. Thinking rarely brought him any welcome thoughts. He needed to get out, clear his mind, and then sit back down and type out his frustrations into several more chapters.

_Knock Knock. _

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." He groaned in frustration, resisting the sudden urge to rip out a fistful or several of his hair. Was he not allowed any peace today?

He stood, shaking out his hair and prowling towards the door, his sweatpants sliding down his hips further than they already had been. His white wife-beater rode high on his stomach, but he paid it no mind. It wasn't like he gave a damn what others thought about him.

Opening the door, he narrowed his eyes. It was the same damn kid from the day before.

"You again." He muttered, slumping against the doorway and crossing his arms.

The guy wasn't half bad looking, considering that today he looked as though he'd barely slept. His black hair was sticking out in all directions, and his dark grey eyes nearly glared at him from behind a pair of reading glasses. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a grey jacket with a pale cream scarf and a pair of loose jeans, and a pair of dark shoes peered out from under the hem of the pants. There was a book bag slung over his shoulder too, now that he looked closer.

"Yeah, uh…"

"I'm not interested, kid." He drawled, tossing his mane back over one shoulder with a quick shake of his head. "Now leave me the fuck alone. Don't come back again or I'll fuck that pretty little face of yours up."

Before the dark haired male could retort, the blunette slammed the door and clicked the four different locks into place.

As Grimmjow stalked back into the kitchen, he went directly to the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping off the top of the bottle with his calloused fingers easily and taking a long drink of the chilled liquid. His mood had officially been ruined, yet again. People seemed to have far too much ease with doing that lately.

Tilting his head lightly to one side, he was relieved to hear the sound of an engine retreating down the older street and back into the busy society.

Sulkily, the male eyed up the cellphone lying on top of the table for several long moments before sighing and reaching for it.

It wasn't _too_ late for him to get a couple hours of work in.

**-;-**

"Ran, I've got some bad news for you…"

"_Shu, I swear to God, I wasn't kidding when I said I would be SOL with Shiro." _

"Ran, the guy's a complete nutjob. He told me if I go back that he'll, and I quote, "Fuck up that pretty little face of mine".

"_Fuck. What am I gonna tell Toshiro?" _his friend moaned over the line. Shuhei sighed, focusing on the road momentarily to avoid an older woman pulling ahead of him in a rather flashy manner.

"I have no idea, Ran." He replied once he was sure that he was in no danger of being run off the road for the moment. "Look, I'll see if I can magically find another article for you for tomorrow, alright? But I'm not making any promises."

The squeal that came over the line nearly made Shuhei swerve into the oncoming lane.

"_Thanks Shu! You're the best! Oops, gotta go. Shiro's coming back."_

Grey eyes blinked, and then the dark haired male groaned as he realized that he'd just agreed to try and find Rangiku another article for tomorrow. Knowing her, she was already telling Toshiro, and then he'd be SOL because she'd gone and raised everyone's hopes.

"There goes my writing time." He muttered darkly, punching the horn as someone decided to try and rear-end him.

**-;-**

"You've been smoking again."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, ignoring Shinji as the blond practically dangled off of him. "And you've only noticed now?" he replied, attempting for the thirteenth time to shrug off the other male.

"Grimm, you didn't do it in the house, did you? You know how much I hate it when you do that!" Shinji whined, straight teeth visible as he frowned. "Staaaarrk! Grimm's been smoking in the house again!"

The male in question poked his head out from the back room, a cigarette angled out the corner of his mouth. His dark brown hair lightly curled into his eyes, and Grimmjow knew that Shinji had just woken up the slate eyed male for the fourth time in the last half hour.

"It's not my problem." He yawned, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth to do so. "Leave off a bit, Shinji. He's trying to work."

"The world's against me." Said blond muttered mutinously, though he did let go of Grimmjow in favor of crossing his arms and pouting. "Every single time _I_ want to have a little fun, you all have to go ganging up on me. It's not fair."

Starrk rolled his eyes, though a smirk tugged at the edges of his lips, and he raised a brow mischievously. "You'd know it if we were to 'gang up on you', love."

"Right. Because I completely forgot that we're a bunch of gay men hanging out in a record shop." Shinji snapped sulkily. "As if I could forget."

Grimmjow snorted, moving away from Shinji to grab a box of newly donated records and move out from behind the counter in order to both put some distance between him and the blond and to put away the records to their new homes. Honestly, it was like he worked in a daycare when Shinji decided to hang around. It wasn't that he had issues with the guy; he was in a pretty heavy relationship with Starrk, after all, and Starrk was both his close friend and boss, so he wasn't exactly going to question it. Besides, he was right beside them when it came to 'gays', though he wasn't one to actually go out and flaunt it like some people he knew.

Sighing, he shook his head to rid himself of the irritating thoughts that refused to leave him be. It seemed like he was always been distracted by his thoughts. Why couldn't they be silent for once in his life?

Instead of lingering on that thought for too long, he instead focused on the jazz tune playing on the phonograph Starrk had ready at all times. He wasn't entirely too sure why the only music played on the damn thing was jazz, but he wasn't going to start questioning everything now. Questions didn't really end up resulting in anything good when it came to him. It had been beaten into him at a young age, after all.

Sighing as he once again found himself thinking, Grimmjow cleared his mind and got to work filing away the new records, ignoring the lovey dovey crap that Shinji was pulling on Starrk.

**-;-**

His prey darted down the empty strip of alley uselessly, taking in huge gasping breaths of air as he struggled to outrun him.

He felt his lips curl into a savage smile, felt his heart soar in the sheer moment of the chase. This was what he lived for; all of the shadows and the dark and the fear and the kill.

He pushed himself faster, felt the rush of air against his skin, felt the shallow gashes on his forearms where his prey had clawed at him out of sheer desperation. He was going to pay for inflicting these wounds to him, he was. He was going to scream for what he'd done.

Tilting his head to one side as he noted his prey had paused, he slowed to a lope, hand reaching into his pocket to grasp at the slim blade he carried with him whenever he went out hunting. It was a part of him, this blade. It had a history with him; a dark and bloody history that was unlike anything one could read in a history book or see in the newspaper.

He was a Grim Reaper, a Shinigami. A keeper of souls; Death. He'd been called them all over the years, and all of them had been batted aside with disdain. He was what he was; there was no changing that. But his host, the male that had started all of this…now there was a story to be told.

But it wasn't to be told now.

Sneering, he lunged.

**-;-**

Grimmjow walked along the empty street, his hands shoved into his pockets and a cigarette trapped between his lips. It was a cooler night, considering it was still late March, but it wasn't unpleasantly so. It was more soothing and quiet than anything else.

Sirens echoed somewhere farther off, and he could hear a dog barking nearby; probably in one of the houses a couple streets over.

He didn't mind being out this late at night. It was a different world here than it was during the day. Shops that were usually packed to the brim with people were silent and empty. The streets, usually loud and boisterous with taxis and vehicles of all kinds were deserted. It was like a switch had been flicked off here, and this was all that remained. A man and an empty city.

Snorting, Grimmjow plucked the cigarette from his lips and blew out a smoke ring towards the sky, taking note of the partial cloud that was beginning to blot out the stars. It was probably going to rain tomorrow, if he guessed right.

Turning a corner into a familiar alley that he usually took to get home, he was met with a sight that he wasn't quite sure how to take.

There was a figure lying in the middle of the alley, about a hundred or so metres ahead of him, with another figure several feet away, by the looks of things. What caught his interest, however, was the steadily growing puddle of what he knew to be blood pooling around one of the figures.

"Should I call an ambulance, or is everything alright?" he drawled loudly, getting closer to the scene. He'd been in a gang before; if this was something gang related, it was probably going to be best not to report it. Things would get pretty nasty for him if anyone figured out that he'd been the one to call in. "Because trust me, I'm not interested in getting wrapped up in any gang shit tonight."

"Go away." Came a rasped answer from the male nearer to the alley wall. Grey flicked on like a beacon, staring straight at Grimmjow dangerously.

"Hey, I'm just asking. Should I make a call, or is everything cool here?" the blunette shrugged before actually seeing who the voice belonged to.

_Ah, fuck. It's that fucking kid from earlier. _he internally groaned as the dark haired male snarled at him from his position on the ground. _Fuck my fucking life. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, sorry about the delay in updates. I've been watching Sherlock and dealing with one hell of a migraine today, and I figured that that would be reason enough to spur me on and get me to actually write up this chapter. By the way, I highly encourage all of you to watch Sherlock. It's rather brilliant, and gives you the urge to speak in a cultured English accent for no apparent reason. **

**Summary: **He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach.

**-;-**

Grimmjow certainly hadn't expected to find this sort of scene tonight, which was for sure. What was more, however, was that of all the people in the world that he had to run into, it just had to be that same fucking kid that had turned up on his doorstep twice now.

Why him?

**-;-**

He was floundering in his own consciousness as he came to; staring into the most brilliant pair of cerulean eyes he'd ever seen.

Wincing as sudden stinging grabbed his attention, his own eyes were drawn to his forearms. Long, narrow gashes sliced through the flesh there, and already, he could tell that they were going to be swollen by the next day.

Panic stabbed through Shuhei's chest. What happened this time?

Instinctively, he shoved himself backwards, straight into a stone wall that jarred something else in his back. Probably more gashes.

"Go away." He snapped weakly; God, he was pathetic. He was going to hyperventilate in this place, in front of- wait. Flicking his gaze back to the cerulean eyes that were staring at him warily, he moved his attention across the lean frame that was now towering over him.

It was none other than Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, the very same male that seemed hell bent on avoiding him.

Great. Just fucking great. Of all the people to find him while he was like this. With all of his walls and barriers down, unable to even comprehend the situation that he found himself in yet again.

There was a heavy sigh; no doubt he'd been arguing or something with Shuhei, and then there was a hand on his shoulder. Automatically, he cringed away from the touch, eyes settling on the body that was mere feet away from him. Which he then decided left him two options; either Grimmjow had killed the man lying there, or he had. Either was very possible, at this point.

"Look. Kid. I don't give a fuck what kind of shit you're into. But you're not looking so good."

"No shit. Screw off." Shuhei rasped, fighting for control over himself. He was spiralling into a place that he really didn't want to be stuck in; trapped with petty emotions that would get him nowhere. They never had before, anyway.

"Are you always this charming?"

"Are you always such a pain in the ass?" he snarked back, trying to haul himself to his feet with no success. His legs were stubbornly refusing to cooperate with what he wanted at the moment, and that particular want happened to be to get away from this asshole.

"Apparently." Grimmjow rolled his eyes, considering his options at the moment. He could just leave the kid here and let him sort whatever problems he had out, or…

Bending down, the blunette easily scooped Shuhei's slim frame up into his arms bridal style and began walking off, ignoring the other male's protests.

"What the fuck are you doing? Put me down!"

Grimmjow flexed his arms automatically, tightening around the slight male's ribs and thighs. Shuhei hissed as fading bruises protested against the pressure, and he wriggled to try and get out of the grasp he found himself in. The blunette noticed, but said nothing, instead relaxing his grip ever so slightly. Almost immediately, he felt the darker haired male relax in his grip the tiniest bit.

Shuhei felt the aftermath of the usual emotional drain begin to hit several minutes later in Grimmjow's arms, and every nerve in his body tensed up as nausea hit. He felt feverish, unable to take a breath in without swallowing the little bile he could feel rising in the back of his throat.

"Please…put me down." He murmured, weakly pushing at Grimmjow's chest.

"You gonna be sick?" came the calm reply.

"Most likely."

Unexpectedly, Shuhei found himself being carried over to a trash can leaning against the side of the alley wall, and as soon as he was put on his feet, he was heaving into the bin. There was a hand loosely wrapped around his waist, something that he was grateful for. Otherwise, his legs would most likely have given out on him and sent his head right into the trash can.

In the meantime, Grimmjow looked away. He knew that most people highly disliked being watched or even accompanied while they threw up their lunches, and now was not an exception; though it was technically his own fault that he found himself in this situation. He'd been the one to take the kid with him instead of leaving him back in the alley. And he still didn't even know why he did it; it was like he'd been possessed for a split second. Then again, being a former gang member, it was probably just that instinct to protect his comrades that had made him do it.

"Thanks." The kid finally muttered, straightening up for a long moment before collapsing again like a puppet with its strings cut.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Grimmjow snorted, grabbing the male and throwing him over his shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach.

**-;-**

It wasn't unusual for Shuhei to wake up and be so disoriented that he wasn't entirely sure that he was even in the right place. In fact, it was practically the norm for him.

But waking up in an unfamiliar bed, in unfamiliar territory didn't count.

Dazedly, the dark haired male pulled himself into a sitting position, feeling nausea faintly alert itself to him as he did so. Alright, so he was sick; had someone found him and brought him home with them or some such thing?

Almost immediately, an image of a blue haired, cerulean eyed male popped into his mind, quickly followed by the onslaught of memories that had been locked away and just waiting for him to wake up so that they could bombard him all at once. Gritting his teeth, Shuhei waited out the migraine that came with the usual memories and emotions, taking slow, even breaths so as to not aggravate his bruised ribs.

"I see you're not feeling much better."

Shuhei jumped, wincing at the sharp jab of pain in pretty much every limb in his body. Looking back up, he took in the rather imposing figure of Grimmjow Jeagerjaques. The male's arms were crossed over a bare chest, as they may or may have not been the other day- yesterday?- and he was wearing a pair of comfortable looking jeans low on his hips. At the moment, one light blue brow was arched up above a matching eye, and there could be the slightest traces of a smirk lingering on his lips.

"Where am I?"

"My place. Don't touch anything."

Shuhei couldn't help but raise a brow, knowing sarcasm had to be oozing off of him at the moment. "And how exactly do you expect me to either go anywhere or touch anything when it's hard enough for me to breathe, exactly?"

"Not the point, kid." Grimmjow replied lazily, waving a hand before wandering back over towards the table and chair seated over in the middle of what he now realized to be the kitchen and living room area. Meaning that he was resting on a couch; not a bed like he'd originally thought. "Oh, and by the way. Some guy called Kira called for you. Asked if you wanted to meet up for coffee. Told him you weren't available."

Shuhei grunted, though the words that he did want to say lingered temptingly at the edges of his mind. It would only involve the most miniscule amount of effort just to let them slip from his tongue…but then again, he was positive that if he moved so much as one coffee mug out of the way, the mild politeness that the two of them were displaying would evaporate. So better not allow himself to cuss out this moron like he wanted to just yet. He could wait until he was safely locked in his own home to allow himself that luxury.

"So, you in a gang, or you got something a little fucked up going on upstairs?" Grimmjow asked casually, leaning against the table and raising one brow in a slightly mocking manner.

"None of your business."

"Actually, considering that I hauled your sorry ass home with me last night, I'd say that it is my business now, whether you like it or not."

"I never asked for your help." Shuhei snapped, immediately regretting it as his ribs protested.

"Yeah, well…" Grimmjow seemed at a loss for words. "It didn't seem like the right thing to do, leaving you back there in that alley."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've woken up in an alley with no idea how I got there." Shuhei muttered, slinging his legs over the side of the couch and attempting to stand. However, he found his path blocked by a solid six foot something frame of muscle and blue as he scowled in irritation. The fact that the blue haired male was a couple of inches taller than he was only served to fuel the growing annoyance that he was feeling, and as Grimmjow smirked, Shuhei growled.

"You should be in a hospital." The cerulean haired male stated lowly, crossing his arms.

"Why the hell do you even give a fuck? You've threatened me twice, and I'm not in the mood for this bullshit." Shuhei countered. "Now, if you're quite done, I've got an article to write for my boss."

Luckily enough, the second time he pushed by, there was no resistance, thankfully, and Shuhei honestly didn't give a fuck about what other people would see as he stumbled down the sidewalk back to his own home. Comfortable, safe, home. Where he could lick his wounds in safety and take a handful of pills to possibly dull the now very audible throb that his mind was currently enjoying torturing him with.

**-;-**

As the dark haired male finally shuffled into his own atmosphere, the remaining tension remaining in his shoulders simply evaporated; leaving him as merely exhausted rather than agitated as well. Sighing, Shuhei made his way to the answering machine, which was blinking that he apparently had several unanswered calls, and automatically deducted that they were probably from Matsumoto, Kira, and perhaps Toshiro. After all, it wouldn't be the first time the shorter man would call and double check that Matsumoto had actually managed to give him all the details. A little obsessive, maybe, but it was one of the quirks that he'd simply come to live with.

"You know, if you wanted to actually surprise me, you should probably stop leaving your mug out on the counter." Shuhei said wearily, turning to face Kira, who was seated comfortably on his couch, giving him a one brow look of vague amusement. Here, in this environment, it was hard to tell that the blond was usually a nervous wreck. Rather, he looked more smug than anything else, and at the moment a little disappointed. He seemed to make it his personal goal in life to scare the hell out of him by 'sneaking' into his home; not that it really was, given that he had a house key.

"You look like hell."

"Feels like it, too." He replied, heaving himself into his chair. The one that meant instantaneous death and possible combustion should anyone other than him sit upon it.

"You blacked out again?"

"Obviously. Otherwise I would have been home last night instead of being hauled off to some asshole's apartment."

That comment caused Kira to raise his brow again, this time in surprise. "Someone actually managed to haul your sorry ass somewhere without you having a complete and utter meltdown?" he commented dryly, shifting so that he faced Shuhei dead on. "Go on. Now I'm curious."

"God forbid you of all people become curious." The dark haired male rolled his eyes. "All you need to know is was that it was Jeagerjaques who found me. Hauled me back to his place so nothing happened to me. I dunno why, the guy's a complete prick."

"Huh."

"You're telling me." Shuhei snorted, getting back up and heading for the fridge. "Want a beer?"

"Too early to drink."

"It's five o'clock _somewhere_." He defended, easily twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a long draught. "Besides, last night was one hell of a ride. I think I earned the right to drink at whatever fucking time it is now."

"And apparently you're still exhausted, because usually, you're an emotionless bastard." Kira murmured, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "Either that or something else is bothering you."

"I don't get it." Shuhei hissed. "The two times I meet the guy he threatens me, and then he does this. Why the hell would he do that for a guy he's met twice before in his life?"

"So it is bothering you."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Hey, no need to get so angry. I'm just worried about you. When I called your cellphone, some guy told me you weren't available. So I came here."

"Fuck." Shuhei groaned. "That ass still has my phone."

"Well, aren't you lucky?" Kira snorted, earning a dark glower from his friend. "Hey, don't give me that look; it's not our fault that he went through your pockets."

"I hate it when you have a point." Shuhei grumbled, slipping back down into his chair with his beer.

"I know." Kira grinned back cheekily.


	6. Chapter 6

Happy Birthday, Shuhei Hisagi! (Well, belated birthday)

And yes, before any of you mention anything, I do realize that his birthday was yesterday, not in April. But given the iffy plot here, I'm going with it. In this fic, his birthday is April 15.

Summary: He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

**-;-**

Grimmjow was sitting at his computer once again, cerulean eyes narrowed in concentration as his fingers lightly tapped the keyboard. He'd just had the words that he'd wanted to write on the tip of his tongue…why couldn't he remember what the hell he'd been about to type?

Another beep from something across the table grabbed his attention, and it was then that the male finally realized what it was that had distracted him.

A cellphone. And it wasn't his.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me." Grimmjow growled, banging his head against the table. The fucking kid's phone. He'd completely forgotten that he'd pulled it out of his pocket to answer the call that had come in when he'd been out of it. Reaching out a hand, Grimmjow snagged the offending object and stared at it with all of the irritation he could muster.

It was basic, though not basic enough that it would simply let him in without a password, he quickly found out. But that could be easily solved. All Grimmjow had to do was tilt the screen of the phone towards the light and the oil tracks from slender fingers appeared in a specific pattern. Smirking smugly to himself, Grimmjow unlocked the phone and tapped on the new messages.

_Happy Birthday, Shu! We need to get together soon and celebrate! –Rangiku_

There were a couple of others as well, but Grimmjow didn't really pay them any mind. He was more interested in getting this phone out of his hair so that he didn't have to deal with it any longer. Otherwise, it may meet a rather violent end, and it wouldn't necessarily be under his own will that he do so.

Hitting the reply button, Grimmjow quickly typed in a reply, naming a place and a time for he and this mysterious person to meet. Once he'd finished that, he got right back to typing, his mood greatly improved and the words coming easily to his mind.

**-;-**

Shuhei, on the other hand, wasn't having the best of days. Yes, it was his birthday, but given that he had an article desperately needed for Ran and a mild hangover from drinking with Kira, he wasn't exactly getting off on the right foot.

"Get up."

"Nooooo…." The dark haired male groaned, rolling away from Kira and essentially, his food. The blond must have stayed the night and decided that he was going to keep him company for his miserable day.

"Shuhei, I made you food and coffee. Get up before I take it to your neighbors and feed it to someone who will actually appreciate it."

"Fineeee…" Shuhei grumbled, rolling back over and sitting up, grey eyes blinking tiredly. "My head fucking hurts. Remind me why I insist on drinking?"

"Because the alternative is for you to rot in a loony bin." Kira replied dutifully.

"Right."

"Uh huh. Now hurry up." Kira smacked Shuhei lightly upside the head before leaving the room, footsteps light on the wood flooring. "I've got work to do too, you know!"

Yes, Shuhei knew quite well that he had work to do as well. He might be emotionally exhausted, but he wasn't stupid. He still had some of his wits about him, and he was going to use them while he waited for his energy to return.

But in the meantime, he was going to haul his lazy ass out of bed and get food and coffee. That was his set mission, and he was going to complete it despite the handicap of being hungover.

**-;-**

_Aspiring authors this summer to watch out for, readers: Ikkaku Madarame with the newest paperback edition of Hozukimaru, Momo Hinamori with Peaches and Roses, and Grimmjow Jeagerjaques with another murder mystery? It's going to be a good summer for us readers at home, that's for sure. _

_Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, a mysterious author with an even more mysterious entry to the writing community, had everyone addicted to his murder mystery A Summer in Purgatory, but who exactly is this masked man who came swooping in with no warn-_

Rangiku Matsumoto paused in her typing, a frown marring her features as she pressed the backspace key repeatedly and decided against going along the particular route she'd been taking in the piece of writing she'd been attempting to work on. She was growing more frustrated. No thanks to that moronic man she'd sent Shuhei after to get an article on. If she ever got her hands on him, he was going to begging to give her an article, she could say that much.

"Matsumoto, what are you doing now?" the exasperated sigh of her fiancée asked, and the strawberry blond woman glanced up with an instant charming smile.

"Toshiro! What can I do for you?" she asked with enthusiasm she lacked, shifting in her seat and leaning her elbows on the edge of her desk. "I was just working on an article to put in the May issue."

"I'm sure you were." Came the sarcastic reply as the white haired male entered the room and circled the desk, a calculating look on his face. At seeing the partial sentence that she'd been attempting to write for, a brow raised. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her to actually be working for once rather than playing solitare or texting one of her many drinking partners.

"I was, Captain." Matsumoto pouted, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms and glancing over her shoulder at her shorter counterpart. The nickname, however much Toshiro hated it, had stemmed from him being in the army briefly and quickly climbing the ranks to become a Captain. However, he'd been injured while trying to lead his men out of a danger zone and had been shot twice in the chest, and had then been sent home. As it was, the white haired man still had difficulties breathing at times, usually during the winter season, but he didn't allow it to hold him back. It was one of the many things that endeared him to his busty blond partner.

"So I see." Toshiro replied, leaning over the back of Matsumoto's chair and wrapping slender arms around her shoulders.

"It would be easier to write this stupid article if Shu could get me that damn story." She complained, heaving an irritated sigh and reaching for her mug of green tea. "But apparently Grimmjow isn't being very cooperative with him."

Toshiro snorted softly before pecking his future wife on the cheek. "Remember Rangiku, not a lot of people do get along with Shuhei. He's stubborn."

"But so am I!" Matsumoto protested, whirling around in her chair and nearly knock Toshiro's legs out from underneath him.

"I know, love." Toshiro grinned, bright white teeth flashing for a moment. "You'll get your story. I know that much."

Her temper thwarted, Matsumoto allowed herself to relax as Toshiro leaned forward and pecked her again on the lips before retreating and moving to the filing cabinet, which had been his original destination.

"What're you looking for?"

"Just the bills from last month. I'm double checking them." The white haired male replied absently as he rifled through the many files. "Don't worry, Matsumoto, I'm not checking to see if you were drinking when you weren't supposed to again. This time, anyway."

_Damn. _Matsumoto thought to herself. _There goes that idea. _

**-;-**

"No, I think you should use the word 'deranged' there." Kira muttered to himself as he sat on the couch with the third chapter of Shuhei's novel sitting in front of him. Shifting, he used the bright blue highlighter that he always seemed to have on hand and highlighted the sentence that he was finding problems with before scrawling down what he thought should go there with his pen.

As his friend was occupied with that, Shuhei was continuing to work on his book, fingers flying across the keyboard easily and grey eyes narrowed behind his reading glasses.

_There was something not quite right about this place. Something cold and frigid. The air seemed to shudder in what could be considered revulsion as the scent of tainted flesh met his nose. But he couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly the smell was coming from. _

"Shuhei, stop making so many errors." Kira muttered, scratching out another word and replacing it.

"Sorry." The dark haired male apologized automatically, mind on autopilot as his thoughts wandered around what he was writing.

"No you're not." Kira retorted.

"No, I am not." Shuhei agreed absently, backspacing several times and continuing with his new thought. Yes, that word would go well right in there…

"Don't know why I even bother trying to get through to you while you're wrapped up in writing." Kira rolled his eyes, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a long sip from it. "And by the way, you make really bad coffee when you're distracted by your book."

"That's nice."

"Back to being the emotionless bastard everyone knows and fears then?"

"Obviously."

"Have a nice fucking day to you too."

**-;-**

It was so much nicer to feel as though he were actually in control of himself, Grimmjow thought to himself as he wandered through Starrk's shop, the usual stack of records in tow as he sought out their individual places. The last few weeks had been stressful, to say the least, so it was a relief for him to be doing something as mundane as working. Hell, he didn't even mind the jazz music as much as he usually did today. And that had to be a miracle of some kind or something, because for once even Shinji wasn't commenting on it. He was too busy doing the bills and everything else on the front counter with his calculator and notepad in tow. His long blond hair was pulled back in a rather attractive tail, and as long as he kept his mouth shut, you couldn't tell how freakishly straight his teeth were.

Grimmjow also had his hair pulled back, though it was in a high tail rather than a low one. He couldn't stand it when his hair was in a low tail. It just pissed him off for some reason.

"Hey, Grimmjow." Ggio greeted as he entered the store, his usual heavy duty headphones slung around his neck and his pants hanging low on his hips. The black haired male had been in the gang at one point but had branched off to go solo, and these days the only time that anyone really saw him was when he checked in with Starrk. The male was now into some kind of assassination shit, and to be perfectly honest, Grimmjow was content not to know what exactly the smaller male did for a living. Not that it would bother him much; there was just the 'tell and he'd have to kill him' crap, blah blah blah that he'd have to deal with later. And if there was one thing that he didn't feel like having to deal with, it was threats on his life on top of all of the other drama that he had to put up with in the last couple of days.

Only he would stumble across the one person he found himself instinctively drawn to, beaten up in an alley by a body. Only he would have such shitty luck.

Actually, he probably shouldn't say that; he knew quite a few people who had worse luck than him off the top of his head. Hiyori, Shinji's younger and most definitely more aggressive cousin. That girl was never going to get laid if she continued beating people with sandals. It just wasn't something that people did in this day and age.

_Maybe she's a lesbian… _Grimmjow thought to himself. It could explain why it was only men that she beat to a bloody pulp, too. Huh. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. He'd have to ask Shinji when he wasn't buried under math.

That thought solved, he moved onto the next topic, which happened to include the kid that he'd brought home with him. Well, he shouldn't actually say kid, considering the guy only looked to be a couple of years younger than him, but it was definitely amusing to see that the name bothered him. But then again, there could be a damn good reason why he didn't like anyone calling him that. After all, Grimmjow could remember a good number of names that he'd been called that simply made him grind his teeth. All of them revolved around his no good, drunkard of a mother.

Shuddering lightly, he moved on to the original topic that he'd begun to think about.

The kid. Well, more specifically at the moment, his phone. He'd made a date for the mystery person (who turned out to be one hell of a looking woman, after some more research into the phone) to meet up at a bar a couple of streets over. Of course, she didn't know that it wasn't this Shuhei kid that she was going to be meeting, but that wasn't the point. She'd been texting him all afternoon, and at this point, the blunette was wondering why the hell the kid would be friends with a woman like that in the first place. The damn phone was vibrating in his pocket every five minutes, for God's sake! Unless she wasn't actually his friend and her number was in his phone for entirely different reasons.

Sighing, he nodded to Ggio and navigated around another pile of records that had no doubt been left for him by Shinji as he was cleaning off the counter, putting the records away with practiced ease that had come with a good amount of time.

God, he needed better past-times.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary:** He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach.

**-;-**

As soon as Rangiku got off of work, she assured Toshiro that she would be home before midnight and that she was just going to go out for a couple of drinks with Shuhei for his birthday celebration. The white haired male simply rolled his eyes and waved the busty woman off, his focus directed at something on his computer screen, so Rangiku assumed that all would be well and left for home. She wanted to at least change out of the uncomfortable cotton pants that she was forced to wear for work before going to the bar and meeting Shuhei.

As she walked out to the car, she mused on the fact that Shuhei had actually taken her up on the offer of drinks this year. Usually, he turned her down in favor of hanging out with Kira for the day. Maybe the blond had been called into work? Meh; either way, she was going to go out for drinks tonight. Maybe not the way that she'd originally planned, but she was going to get them.

Checking her phone, she was pleased to note that she'd received another text that actually specified which bar and what time he would meet her there, which was also something new. After all, it wasn't like Shuhei was one to go and try someplace new; he was usually able to be found at the usual bar off of Second Avenue with a couple of other writers on the weeknights.

Rangiku didn't even give it a second thought that it might not actually be Shuhei that she was going to meet, too set on actually being able to spend some time with one of her friends to care.

**-;-**

"So, are you going to send what you have over to Gin, or are you just going to continue ignoring me asking and just keep writing?" Kira asked, reclining back in his chair and raising a brow in question to Shuhei. Said dark haired male narrowed his eyes slightly, backspacing several times, before typing in the remainder of his train of thought and turning to look at his friend.

"Perhaps if Gin himself were to appear and ask, I could possibly manage to find a copy for him." The grey eyed male smirked indulgently, linking his fingers together and setting his chin on them. "Then again, I could just do as you have just suggested and merely ignore you until I'm done my entire novel. Wouldn't that be unfortunate?"

The blond male groaned, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to walk over to the wall and introduce his face to said surface. "You know, even though I know the reason you act like a complete and utter ass all of the time, I keep forgetting how much of an actual ass you are when you're doing it."

"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I have a chapter to finish and then a pizza to put in the oven." Shuhei replied vaguely, turning back around in his chair and going back to writing after a slight pause. He had to collect his thoughts and condense them into something that would work for his idea; he knew what he wanted and where he wanted to go with the book- now all he had to do was put it into actual ink on paper, hypothetically.

"Ass."

"Twitch." The dark haired male countered smoothly.

"I always knew there was a reason I didn't like you."

"The same could be said for you."

"Shut it."

"Make me."

**-;-**

Grimmjow toyed with the phone in his hands with mild interest, occasionally pausing and grabbing his glass of beer to take a long draught before going back to doing the same thing he'd been doing for a good twenty minutes. He was early- that much he did know, but the blunette realized that he would probably have to have a couple of drinks in his system if he was going to be having meetings with anybody that he didn't know.

"Hey, you want another drink?" Barragan inquired from down the bar, raspy voice barely heard over the base of the speakers that were set up across the room. Grimmjow shook his head, holding up his still half full glass to show that he was still working on the one that he had now. But knowing the old man, he would most likely be getting another drink before the one he had now was finished. Call it a feeling, if you would. Or it could just be because that the elder man had also been in the same gang that he had, once upon a time. Wasn't exactly the friendliest and didn't like being ordered around, but nice enough if you knew him long enough. Luckily, Grimmjow was classified as being known long enough, and was usually welcomed with tolerance and a dry smirk whenever he walked through the door.

"Alright."

Grimmjow shook his head, thoughts repeating themselves as the very same thought decided to make a re-entry into his main thought stream. Ah, if only his life were so simple. Being narrow minded and dull could take a lot out of someone, after all. Luckily, he wasn't one of the dull people that always seemed to linger about, spreading their words of 'wisdom' and thinking themselves above everyone else even though they weren't all that intelligent in the first place.

Reclining slightly on the stool, the blunette glanced around the room again, eyes keeping an eye out for the busty strawberry blond he was scheduled to meet. He still hadn't managed to figure out why the kid would even have a woman like that down in his contacts in the first place, and he'd come up with just about every theory under the sun in the meantime. The one that he thought of first and foremost, was that the two of them were in some kind of affair, but then dismissed it. The kid might be good looking, but there was no way that he would pick up a woman like that unless- well, he didn't really know how. The next theory was that they were friends, but again, he didn't really know how that would have come about either- unless they were co-workers. That was by far the favored opinion in his theories, and he would be sticking with it unless otherwise corrected.

The phone buzzed, and Grimmjow looked at the screen, realizing quickly that he was receiving a call from someone. Mind, considering the time and the person he was here to meet, it wasn't hard to deduce who was calling him.

Swiping across the screen, he held the cellular device up to his ear and casually glanced over to the door, noting that there was now a strawberry blond woman dressed nice and neat standing in the entrance and looking lost.

"Hello?" he asked smoothly.

"Who is this?" the woman asked immediately, and Grimmjow smirked slightly as her brows furrowed. "Where's Shuhei?"

"If you're talking about the kid who left his phone in my apartment…well, I was hoping you'd be able to help me with that." Grimmjow replied, watching as the woman's eyes roamed the bar, coming to rest on him. Lazily, he pulled the phone away from his ear and waved it in the air, and Rangiku's jaw dropped.

"Shuhei got _laid_!?" she squealed, both into the phone and into the open air. Flipping her own phone closed, efficiently ending the call, Rangiku bustled across the bar, skinny jeans moving sleekly and the tight tank top and jacket leaving her rather impressive cleavage barely visible. Though it wasn't hard to catch the bounce, so all was well for the male populace in the room.

"Oh my God, he knows how to pick them!" she said breathlessly, almost immediately launching into conversation as soon as she hopped onto the stool next to the blunette. "You are absolutely fucking gorgeous!"

Okay then, Grimmjow thought in mild disbelief. The kid wasn't having an affair with the woman- he was gay. That narrowed down his possible theories extensively.

"Actually, he didn't get laid." The blunette shrugged, at least looking a little put out by that fact. "Although it's flattering to see that you think so."

Rangiku's face almost immediately shifted to a mixture of concern and anger. "Then how did he end up leaving his phone in your apartment? He warned me about you, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, and I'm not stupid."

Well, that complicated things. He was hoping that she wouldn't have known about who he was.

"How do you-"

"Who do you think sent him after you looking for that article, you ass?" the blond hissed, suddenly not looking all that friendly. "He told me about how you threatened him, and let me tell you, buddy, I am not amused with that behavior. He was working on my orders, and I get it if you're a self-obsessed prick, I really do, but kindly do not slam the door on my friend and fellow writer's face. Because I will give you this warning, and this warning only- if you fuck with my friends, I will personally hunt you down, kick down your goddamn door, and give you the worst ass-kicking of your life."

Grimmjow slowly felt himself subconsciously cringe further down in his seat and try to appear as if he no longer existed. Somehow , this was so much worse than if she'd been friendly. If she was friendly, he had a bad feeling that he would have flirted with her, and if he'd flirted, he had an even worse feeling that he would already be dead.

"So at least, in the future, just tell people who knock on your door that you don't feel like giving out a story to the press or something like that, because common decency and intelligence might actually get you somewhere in life rather than having me rant at you like a mother hen." Rangiku continued, finishing with her arms crossed and cheeks lightly flushed. As she crossed her arms, Grimmjow caught sight of a thin silver band around her ring finger, and he further internally cringed. It was definitely a good thing that he hadn't hit on her. As much fun as it would have been, he didn't feel like getting the shit kicked out of him anytime soon.

"Alright, alright, I was an inconsiderate ass. I'll admit to that. But now, I'm curious about the kid you sent. Shuhei, right?" the blunette asked, raising a brow and receiving a puzzled nod in return. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Shuhei? What- why do you suddenly want to know about him?"

There was a suspicious look in Rangiku's eyes, and to be perfectly honest, Grimmjow didn't blame the woman one bit. He was a little confused about it, too. But after the events that had led up to the kid even being brought to his apartment, Grimmjow now found that he was genuinely curious about the male. The puzzle pieces just weren't lining up with what he'd seen. The two very different people that somehow inhabited the same body intrigued him, stirring something deep in the back of his mind that he hadn't felt in a great many years.

"Hey. I found him in an alley in the middle of the night. He passed out, so I took him home and left him on my couch. Nothing untoward." The man said defensively, holding up his palms in the universal I-come-in-peace sign.

"Good." Rangiku snorted, looking very much like a bull that had been eased off from a rage. Grimmjow found himself letting out a slow breath, realizing very suddenly that this woman was in no way anyone to fuck around with. She had a set of bearings that would match the most hardened trucker, and if her deceiving appearance didn't give her away, then it was the look that she gave him that gave it away. She was one hard-assed bitch.

"You're not like most women." He said warily.

"Thank you." She replied primly, waving Barragan over and placing her order. "Now, what do you want to know about Shuhei?"


End file.
